


night watch

by sugandt



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugandt/pseuds/sugandt
Summary: cloud has an unsettling dream. then, he wakes up to vincent. vincent would like to know what it is about cloud that makes him feel so tender inside-- but it's probably not important.





	night watch

**Author's Note:**

> i have only watched advent children but i guess this is set during the ffvii game. probably ooc but i just really like these two together. also it's 1:30 am so if my editing is bad... that's why

 

 

cloud dreams only in the dead of night, when he’s alone and in such a deep sleep that one would fear he would not wake up from it. when he does dream, it’s meaningless, flashing dark colours and shapes levitating around him and whispering words that he can’t make out, long tendrils extending towards him while groaning. the dreams always make cloud feel uneasy, like there’s someone watching him over his shoulder, or breathing down his neck, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise in some sort of mock defence, or out of fear. but it’s meaningless.

he wakes up to vincent eyeing him curiously, perched on the very edge of an armchair. cloud shakes his head of sleep, hand coming up to rub at his face and eyes. it’s pitch black outside, the only light coming from a singular tall lamp and an orange fire that burns across the room. the flames flicker in vincent’s eyes, ruby red, piercing. so he wasn’t alone. how long has vincent been watching him sleep? surely he wasn’t there when cloud fell asleep… he can’t quite recall. vincent has a habit of making himself unheard, unseen. cloud finds it endearing, in an inexplicable way. like vincent is someone to unravel.

vincent blinks at cloud, twice, shadows from his eyelashes moving across his cheekbones. he shifts as if he means to get up or speak or do something, but instead, he settles back into the chair and turns his head towards the smouldering wood in the fireplace. in his still-sleepy state, cloud’s stomach turns in on itself for a moment. vincent is cool, yes, but he’s not cold. quite the opposite, actually. what he lacks in words he makes up for in action, which cloud values most. he wants to unravel him.

“you make noise when you sleep,” vincent says, quiet, words muffled by the part of his cloak that covers the lower half of his face. his words aren’t an accusation, more of an observation but despite this cloud’s cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink, hidden by the muted light. it’s then that cloud notices the thin blanket that covers his legs. now that, he did not bring. would vincent do such a thing? or did somebody else notice that he passed out, not in his room, and brought him their own blanket? for such a small gesture, cloud sure is overthinking it.

“does it bother you?” cloud questions, stretching his arms above his head. he grunts when there’s a cracking sound, his body stiff and sore from curling up on a dated loveseat as soon as he had the chance. it’s not that he would care if the sounds he made bothered vincent, but he looks up to him and thinks he’s interesting. if both of them tried a little harder they could be close friends, something more, but that is the last thing on cloud’s mind when every damn hour he can feel sephiroth trying to worm his way into his head.

“not in the slightest,” vincent responds, then gives cloud a pointed look, “do you dream about him?”

a blunt question coming from vincent, cloud thinks. but cloud doesn’t feel sephiroth right now, and perhaps his dreams aren’t as meaningless as he thought they were. cloud mulls this thought over for longer than necessary. is it sephiroth, taking the opportune moment when cloud is most vulnerable, invading his unconscious mind and feeding him the confusing colours and images and sounds? is it sephiroth trying to take over?

“do you dream about her?” cloud shoots the same question back, no malice in his voice, and he’s lucky vincent is mature enough to take it in stride. he doesn’t laugh, but his lips turn up. cloud can only tell by the way his eyes glimmer and squint, cheeks rising over the hem of his cloak. he knows vincent, plagued with nightmares, is difficult to rest, so he finds refuge in taking over night watch. but cloud thinks there’s something lonely about it all.

way to rub salt in the wound, he thinks to himself. pressing down on a bruise still healing, discoloured, purple, green, and blue. vincent’s wound, although old, is still fresh. he relives the same few instances with her, with the scientist, with sephiroth who is not yet sephiroth almost every night.

“i suppose i deserved that one,” vincent murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. cloud suppresses a yawn-- what time is it, anyway?

“yeah,” he agrees, then changes the topic before it crosses into uncharted territory, there’s no need to upset either of them, “what sounds do i make?”

vincent searches for the words to describe what cloud sounds like. they would be rather cute if it didn’t sound like cloud was in pain, but he doesn’t want to risk saying that to cloud, “small sounds. like you’re uncomfortable. afraid,.”

cloud nods along, not sure what to say. they both know it’s sephiroth; he finds his way inside cloud and pierces at his mind, waiting to break him, wanting to reach in with his lithe fingers and tear cloud apart, make him nothing but obedient, pliant, putty in his grasp. for now, not feeling sephiroth nearby, cloud plays with a loose string on the blanket, petting the hem where it’s softest. no wonder he was in such a deep sleep! his fingers wrap around the blanket and he pulls it back up to his chest, adjusting the cushions on the loveseat.

“wouldn’t you like to go back to your room?” vincent asks, concerned that he’s overstepping cloud’s boundaries. blinking languidly, cloud shakes his head back and forth. no. not yet. i don’t want to be alone, and i’m sure you don’t either. the words don’t need to be spoken to be heard. vincent frowns, but it’s hidden, like all his expressions. silence falls between the two, not awkward but not exactly comfortable either. lasting only a few minutes while cloud settles back into the sofa. drifting away and then coming back, as if vincent’s cautious presence, gaze, is what catches him before he goes too far. hook. line. sinker. cloud is the first to break the silence.

“are you going to come over here, or what?”

vincent rises, slow, separate creaks of metal coming together in one full sound. the hinges of his ankles and joints where his fingers curl inwards. he’s quite handsome, despite the years spent in a coffin, vampire-like, and he only looks even more so, now. he sits on the spot beside cloud, careful to not crush his legs, he places his metal forearm below cloud’s knee, fingers gingerly wrapping around his calf. something about cloud makes him feel comfortable enough to do so, but he still asks if it’s okay, to which cloud’s response comes in the form of a soft laugh and an ‘of course.’

neither of them ask what this is. it’s not important— sometimes people need to be close to another person. with cloud it’s different. not a need, he thinks, but a desire. not a deep, burning desire, something more on the surface level that threatens to develop into more. all he knows is that he wants to become closer with cloud, in more ways than one. it’s unfamiliar, not part of their mission. not part of his mission. what’s wrong with taking a small detour?

“what are you thinking about?” cloud asks, nudging vincent’s thigh.

vincent, not knowing how to answer, shrugs his shoulders up then down. thinking. what’s the point in making up a lie, saying he’s thinking about the end when it’s the journey that matters most, the journey that’s always stuck in his thoughts. it’s cloud that matters most. perhaps it was the self-imposed coma, purgatory-like in nature, that made him so reclusive and desperate for something new that he’d focus on anything he could get. but he doesn’t believe that. so no, he’s not thinking of much except getting cloud back to sleep because he needs it so desperately. once cloud is asleep, vincent will go back to being the unofficial watchdog, always ready to unsheath his gun and pull the trigger. cloud’s not worn out yet, sore, head held deep and movements languid. vincent unconsciously digs the metal tips of his fingers into the soft flesh of cloud’s calf, all exposed with the leg of his pants pushed up to his knee-- when did that happen? did vincent do that?

vincent drives cloud crazy. telling him about the sounds he makes while he dreams of sephiroth, abstract. asking him if he’d like to retreat to his room. no way, thinks cloud, not when he could be half-asleep in this dream-like state, the only thing keeping him grounded being the cold metal of vincent’s fingers digging into his leg like they’re on some sort of mission. it goes like this: vincent’s robotic fingers relax, then they tense up again, it’s like a massage from a machine programmed to open and close, pinch and grasp. then they relax. and then tense. relax. it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, and his has cloud groaning and begging vincent to work on his other leg, which he so graciously does after taking his sweet time pushing cloud’s other pant leg up, this time past his knee. yes, he drives cloud _crazy_.

“it’s alright?” vincent asks, digging particularly hard into a knot behind cloud’s knee. in response, cloud yelps, mouth opening in a perfect _o_ , eyebrows furrowing. and it’s such a delectable sound that vincent can’t help but grin beneath his cloak. cloud notices then frowns. it’s more than alright.

vincent’s signature cloak finds itself folded and discarded upon his original seat, forgotten. he situates himself once again, and if he’s honest, a little glad to be rid of it. even though the fire is dwindling, it’s midsummer and stifling indoors, humidity trapped in four walls and sticking to their skin, heavy and thick, and it feels good. cloud has seen vincent’s exposed arms a few times before, noticed how they’re covered more in scar tissue than anything else, ranging from deep tears to thin and repetitive lines. he hasn’t said anything about them yet, and vincent prefers it that way. his metal fingers creep up, up to cloud’s thigh.

“you’re quite the distraction,” vincent comments, not meaning for it to be suggestive. cloud is the kind of man vincent prefers to stay up late with, anyway. it’s not even cloud’s fault: vincent’s the one distracting himself with cloud.

delirious with sleep, cloud smiles,“i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“it could be useful in combat,” vincent suggests, “but right now, i’m doing an awful job at keeping guard.”

“you should guard me,” cloud says around a yawn that seems to last longer than normal, “while i go back to sleep.”

and vincent does, trying to retract his arm, but catches it before its gone, tugs vincent down and he goes willingly. he’s burning hot all over, long jet black hair pooling in cloud’s clavicle, but neither of them make any move to brush it out of the way. the position is impractical if vincent were to keep watch, but he suspects--knows-- that cloud’s intentions were not aligned with leaving vincent by his lonesome. a quick glance over to the fireplace lets vincent know that only the base is still burning, deep orange. he should switch off the lamp, one night without it can’t hurt too much.

“i don’t like the dark,” cloud says, as if he can read vincent’s mind, hand moving, absentminded, up vincent’s textured forearm, then back down to his fingertips. it sends shivers down vincent’s spine, but he remains still.

cloud falls asleep to the sound of vincent’s breathing, back to the land of dreams, but this time there aren’t any abstract shapes to see or tiny sounds to make. as cloud sleeps soundly against vincent, vincent notes that his hand still has his arm in its grasp, like he’s clutching a stuffed animal or a lover. vincent should talk with cloud in the coming days, should try to figure out exactly what this is, why cloud curling up against him makes his chest swell and why he’s so alright with showing his skin around him. why cloud makes him feel so _tender_ inside. confrontation is the most reasonable approach, but there’s something to be said about this indistinguishable time alone that they always happen to find themselves in. no one has given them this privacy for any reason, instead it’s time they found themselves. he glances outside, still dark.

or it could be a problem for another time.

vincent tucks cloud under his arm and resumes the night watch.


End file.
